Katniss Watches
by carolinelea
Summary: Katniss keeps vigil over her slowly mending world.
1. Somethin' Hangin' On The Wind

__These will be quite a bit shorter than my normal installments, but Katniss and Peeta just won't get out of my head. Coupled with a hauntingly beautiful Appalachian melody (called My Father's Father) by the incredible Civil Wars, they're downright demanding. I imagine Katniss singing it to herself as she watches her life slowly take on the shape she thought she'd never live to see.

I know it's all been done before, but there is nothing new under the sun, people. So here's another installment to add to the growing pile of 'Katniss & Peeta grow together again' stories. If you're bored, move on. If you're not, give it a read. I'll be updating daily with another verse of the song (there are four total).

Enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>I hear somethin' hangin' on the wind<em>

_I see black smoke up around the bend_

_I got my ticket and I'm going to go_

_home_

Katniss watches.

She sits in a rocking chair, wrapped in a blanket, and leans her head against the window frame. The chill of late autumn creeps its way through the miniscule gaps between glass and wood and wraps itself around her form, fighting to sneak its way under the ratty quilt.

The old woman shudders and pulls the cloth tighter about her thin shoulders. Exhausted eyes blink slowly, almost deliberately, as they resolve themselves in the glass. She stares at the face and has to remind herself, once more, that the young, scarred, emotionless reflection is her own.

She supposes that the space between her house and Peeta's is quite beautiful; or, it would be, if she could perceive anything but a gray that is somehow more tired and more alien than her father's eyes. She knows the world outside the slightly frosted pane is afire with color from the lightest butter yellow to the deepest crimson, but she cannot see it. Not really. Not without –

She grabs the careless thought and throttles it as she would a groosling. The motion is familiar, even if her hands do not move. She puts it away in the game bag of her thoughts, to be brought out and dealt with later.

When the snow begins to fall, she slowly notices a difference. The scattered white makes the dark gray orange again.

_Muted. Like the sunset_, she thinks, and can't help when she looks into Peeta's window.

He is standing there in the warm light of his kitchen, kneading some speckled dough. He punches it and a puff of flour floats up, making him sneeze into the crook of his left elbow. When the sneeze has subsided and he opens his bright blue eyes to see her sitting there, staring at him, Katniss finds that she can't breathe.

She is confused when he grins sardonically at her, but then realizes that the old/young woman in the window is smiling in a very, very small way, too.


	2. A Time Or Two

_the leaves have changed a time or two_

_since the last time the train came through_

_I got my ticket and I'm going to go_

_home_

Katniss watches.

The phone vibrates when it rings. Sometimes she can hear it ring, too, but she mostly just watches the dust filter through the air when it buzzes.

She rarely picks it up. Even when she does, she is afraid to press the receiver to her ear. What terrible news will come out of that piece of plastic next? Which person will it be that has been murdered because of her? What new face will be in her nightmares when she finally succumbs to the exhaustion?

One morning, she has enough strength to make it to the kitchen table. She sits in a chair and stares at her hands. The scars are fading. She flexes her fingers, examining them slowly, dully fascinated by the way the shiny, burned patches seem like her own skin again.

The phone rings and she jumps.

Her heart beats wildly as the sound of it fills her, leaving no room to block it out. It rings and rings and rings and even though she's hoping it will just stop and leave her alone, she pushes up from the table and answers.

"Miss Everdeen?"

Katniss makes some kind of noise in the back of her throat, which the caller takes as a confirmation.

"It is such a privilege to speak with you, Miss Everdeen. How are you doing on this fine day?"

Katniss recognizes the lilt of the Capitol. She twists the cord around her wrist and swallows before she answers.

"I'm…who is this?"

"So sorry," purrs the voice, "I should have introduced myself. My name is Francesca Larkin, and I'm a columnist with the Panem Flyer. Of course, you must know that already."

Through the window, Katniss can see Peeta looking at her curiously. She shakes her head at him and turns away, but not before she sees him make for his front door.

"Uh…no, I don't read. I mean, I don't read…newspapers," Katniss finishes, sitting down in the chair just as Peeta enters the room.

"Oh," says Francesca, clearly put off. "Well, I write an entertainment column for the Flyer. Mostly weddings, but also major festivals and holidays."

Katniss closes her eyes because the voice on the phone combined with the expression of concern in Peeta's face is getting to her. "Oh, yes," she lies faintly, "yes, I've seen a few articles."

"Wonderful!" the columnist purrs. "Well, then you must know why I thought you would be the perfect person to speak to regarding the exciting wedding this weekend. The Flyer is the only publication with permission to report on it," she says proudly.

Katniss wraps the cord around her wrist once more. She feels Peeta's hand at her elbow, a gentle way of telling her that he is there, as if she were a skittish animal. His hand slides down her forearm and stops at her bound wrist, loosening the cord. Francesca is waiting for her to say something, but Katniss is too distracted by the sensation of Peeta's fingers brushing against her pulse point.

"Gale Hawthorne's wedding, of course," she prattles on. "To Catharina Keynes. Tyrol Keynes' daughter."

A heavy layer of guilt and loneliness settles over her heart.

"Gale Hawthorne's wedding," she says softly. Peeta pauses.

"Yes, yes, of course," says Francesca, clearly nettled now. "Gale Hawthorne, your cousin, your hunting partner, your comrade who ended the war with his ingenious bomb design. Aren't you attending? Do you have any comment..."

Katniss' surroundings become a blur. Her ears fill with white noise and the phone slips from her limp hand and lands with a crack on the table. She sits, chest heaving in panic and pain, not seeing Peeta as he carefully puts the phone back in its cradle.

Time passes. She isn't sure how much. When she finally finds a way out of the fog, she isn't in the house she sleeps in (she refuses to call it home. How could a home be so full of ghosts?). She is lying on a bed, covered with a thick, home made quilt. The only light in the room is a small fire in the hearth. The sky outside is full of stars.

Katniss stands slowly, keeping the quilt around her shoulders. She follows the scent of baking bread into the kitchen, where she finds Peeta sitting at the table, staring at his hands. Something about it jogs her memory, and she realizes that she was doing the very same thing earlier that day.

The phone. The news. Tears well in the corners of her eyes, but they aren't the overwhelming kind. Not yet.

"Gale left. Real or not real?" she asks. Peeta snaps out of his reverie.

"Real," he answers softly.

Katniss takes a deep breath, trying to control herself. The next question spills out before she can stop it.

"Gale…killed Prim. Real or n-" Her voice breaks and Peeta catches her before she hits the ground. She collapses into his lap and he holds her the way she used to hold Prim.

"I don't know, Katniss," he whispers, stroking her dark hair as the now-overwhelming tears soak his shirt. "But I know he never would. He never would."

They sit like this for a very long time: Katniss sobs, Peeta cradles, and the darkness outside fades to gray. Once Katniss is able to draw a complete breath again, she slides off of Peeta's lap and sits beside him, their backs against the flour-dusted cabinets. Peeta is still for the smallest of moments before he stands up and starts rummaging around.

A cheese bun and a mug of hot broth are set down in front of her. She doesn't move to eat it, so Peeta tears off a piece of the bread and dips it in the broth before eating it himself. This, coupled with the instinct to put the food in her stomach before it is gone – one she is sure will never completely leave her – causes her to start eating. Satisfied, Peeta sits back and watches to make sure she puts away the whole thing.

"The train came through today," Peeta tells her. "First one of the spring. Brought in some new cheese. I thought you might like it."

Katniss frowns at the bun and notices that the cheese is, indeed, different.

"It's good," she decides. She turns to look at him and realizes anew how bright and blue his eyes are, even when ringed by sleep shadows.

"Good," he replies. He is silent until she swallows the last bite.

"Katniss, why did you pick up the phone today?"

She doesn't say anything.

"You never pick up the phone."

She takes a long drink from the mug.

"Katniss."

Peeta's tone is gentle but demanding. Katniss tries to turn away, but he takes the edges of the quilt draped on her shoulders and pulls them toward himself, so that she has no choice but to acknowledge him.

"I heard it ring," she admits to the wooden floor.

"You heard it ring," he repeats.

"Yeah, I…I don't hear things. Most days."

He nods.

"I don't see things. Most days."

Katniss looks at him curiously.

"How can you not see?"

"I guess I can see," he muses. "I mean, I can't see things the way they really are. My memories are mostly back to normal, but life is still…shiny. Everything is still shiny."

"Everything?"

"Mostly," he says, and Katniss can't help the way her muscles tense slightly, suddenly aware of how close they are; how easy it would be for Peeta to slip into a fit right there and kill her. _Stupid, careless, idiot Katniss_ she thinks as the terrifying memory of Peeta's eyes, mad and rolling, swims to the forefront of her mind. Peeta notices and looks disgusted with himself.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's okay; I'm okay," he quickly says as he very, very gently puts a hand to her wasted cheek. She flinches, but only a little. "See? We're okay right now."

"I'm not," she whispers.

"Yeah…" he agrees. "Maybe not. But you're here, and I'm here, and we're alive."

When Peeta's thumb begins to trace the skin between her eye and her cheekbone, Katniss can't help but close her eyes and lean into the warmth of his solid, calloused hand.

"We're alive."


	3. My Father

_my father's father's blood is on the tracks_  
><em>a sweet refrain drifts in from the past<em>  
><em>I got my ticket and I'm going to go<em>  
><em>home<em>

Katniss watches.

She perches on an empty windowsill of the little concrete house as Peeta wades into the green glass of her father's lake. She smiles a bit when she hears that his footsteps are heavy even in water.

He turns to look at her. The sunlight makes his wet chest and shoulders shine and she realizes too late that she's blushing.

"You coming or what?" he asks, and he throws a handful of silt and lake weeds at her. It lands on her leather quiver and she scowls at him.

"Watch it or I'll drown you."

"That would make you a very poor teacher."

Katniss hums in agreement and slips out of her boots and shirt. Peeta averts his eyes, ever the gentleman, even though she's still wearing her brown camisole. She walks easily into the lake and slides under the water, relishing the undulating silence. She opens her eyes and admires the flashes of silvery fish, waving green tendrils, smooth gray stones. Suddenly, Peeta's face is there, holding his breath in a way that makes his cheeks puff out absurdly. Katniss's laughter bubbles up unbidden and she stands to break the surface.

She emerges to find him coughing, his blond hair now dark and slick. Katniss grins even wider and thumps him on the back.

"Rule one: Don't breathe the water."

Peeta is still able to shoot her a look as he splutters. She laughs at him, but continues to rub his back as his breathing calms down.

"Yeah, got that part," he concludes in a hoarse voice.

"Yes," Katniss says. "And you don't have to look like a monkey when you hold your breath, either. Here, try this." She takes a breath and sinks down so that her mouth and nose are submerged and blows air through her nostrils, making bubbles. He watches her suspiciously, not convinced.

"Why?"

"So you get used to the sensation of water being pushed out of you, rather than into you," she tells him, not unkindly. He nods and tries it, and she smiles again at the way he shuts his eyes so tightly, as if he is afraid water might get into them.

They spend an hour or so mastering the arts of breathing, floating, and propelling one's self underwater. Peeta can't seem to manage to trust that the water will hold his solid body up without his help as he floats, but by the time they break to eat their midday meal, he is able to paddle to the middle of the lake and struggle back to where she waits.

Peeta starts a fire while Katniss cleans her easily-bagged waterfowl. She rigs it up on a stripped piece of wood and they sit in companionable silence as it roasts.

"So your father brought you here?" asks Peeta. He tosses a pebble into the water and watches as the ripples begin.

"Yes, he did," she says, idly watching the tiny waves lap the shore. "It was our place." Peeta looks over at her. Droplets cling to the tips of her dark hair, splayed across her back, not in its usual plait. He waits until she speaks again.

"I don't even remember learning to swim. I guess I was really young. He would hunt and I would play. It was…" she stops talking, but Peeta nods.

"My father and I used to get up earlier than everyone else. To roll out the dough," he says. "He'd make tea and we'd sit together and watch the sunrise. And you."

Katniss turns and looks at him curiously. "What?"

Peeta laughs quietly and lies back on the ground, his hands behind his head. "I'd see you run out to the woods every day, before the sun was up."

She considers him for a moment before lying down next to him. He wraps an arm around her, holding her head fast to his shoulder, so that she curls into his body.

"You should have offered me some tea," she jokes.

"You would've never taken it," he replies.

"That's true."

They lie quietly, listening to the murmur of wildlife around them. Peeta's breathing is measured and deep, and he only rouses when Katniss sits up to take their meal off of the fire. He props himself up on his elbows, watching as she pulls their bread and apples from the canvas bag. He furrows his brow when she also pulls out two toasting forks.

"Did you want to toast your bread?" he asks.

"I thought we both could," she says evenly, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, I'd rather mine soft," says Peeta, trying politely decline. "Too much stale bread your whole life kind of ruins crunchy crust." Katniss ignores him and spears a slice of bread on each fork. She hands one to him and wordlessly holds her own over the flames.

"Katniss?" he asks, perplexed, but she grabs his hand and holds it so that his bread begins toasting, too. Peeta's mouth opens as if he wants to protest again, but she leans over and presses her lips to his. He gasps and nearly drops his skewer.

"Careful," whispers Katniss, her breath ghosting over his mouth. She turns her attention back to the fire and takes both pieces of bread in hand. When she faces Peeta again and hands him his piece, she sees he understands.

"I figure you've done enough asking. My turn," she says. Peeta's cornflower blue eyes are disbelieving, joyous, bright with unshed tears as she shifts so that she is kneeling in front of him.

"I don't think I can live without you, Peeta. And I don't want to try. I…" she trails off, fidgeting with the bread. He shifts so that he is kneeling in front of her, too, and as always, his words make things better, smoother.

"I love you so much, Katniss Everdeen. You are the strongest, most beautiful, powerful, remarkable, selfless person in this world."

"No –"

He puts a finger on her lips. "You are. And I plan on spending every moment of the rest of my life convincing you of it."

Katniss swallows the lump in her throat and offers the bread to Peeta.

"Marry me?" she murmurs. Peeta threads his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head, and pulls her to him slowly. His kiss is sensual but demanding, and grows only moreso as she deepens it. Katniss feels the peculiar need she associates only with Peeta growing in the pit of her being, but when he moans softly, she comes back to her senses.

"Wait," she breathes, pulling back, and with all of her usual grace, almost shoves the bread in his mouth. He starts to laugh, especially when she snatches his piece and wolfs down a bite. She has molded herself back into him before he is finished swallowing, but neither of them care, especially when Katniss's hands find their way down his back and under the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers skim the skin there and he shudders. He takes her in his arms and lays her down gently, caressing her neck, collarbone, shoulders, and when his lips find the skin between her breasts, she finds she is incapable of any more thought.

It is dusk when she wakes, entwined with him on the shore, covered only with the picnic blanket. The fire is only embers now, so she sits up to add more tinder, and the blanket falls away. Peeta stares at her, bare and bathed in the growing firelight, and he is so quiet that she nearly misses his question.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

Katniss turns back to look at him, a little ashamed that he doesn't know the answer. So she wraps the blanket around both of them and kisses him so thoroughly that they are both panting for air.

She tells him, "Real."


	4. Burn Like Coal Dry Like Tears

_the winding roads that led me here_  
><em>burn like coal and dry like tears<em>  
><em>so here's my hope; my tired soul<em>  
><em>and here's my ticket; I want to go<em>  
><em>home<em>

Katniss watches.

She sits on the porch swing Peeta built, bare toes barely touching the coal-blackened wood, and mentally rhymes along with the little girls jumping rope a few yards away.

"_2, 4, 6, 8, don't be late, don't be late_

_ 1, 2, 3, 4, don't be sore, don't be sore_

_ 1, 3, 5, 7, Games won't wait, they won't wait_

_ 3, 6, 9, 12, see my ma no more, no more_

_ Reaper wants me; home no more…_"

Katniss swallows the lump in her throat and forbids herself from scolding the children. They are innocent creatures, blurs of faded gingham hopping between spinning ropes, unaware of the true meaning behind their jump rope game. One of them, her dark Seam hair tangled, breaks away from the group and skips over to stand in front of Katniss.

"Wanna play, Miss Katniss?" she asks fearlessly. The child's gray eyes shine with excitement as she waits for Katniss to answer.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Tilly."

Katniss leans forward slightly and pokes the little girl's stomach, marveling at how it is round with the evidence of hearty food, and much of it. Tilly giggles and the sound threatens to sweep Katniss away into a sea of heartache. She breathes in deeply and forces herself to smile.

"Well, Tilly, thank you, but I can't do much jumping right now."

Tilly tilts her head to the side.

"Why not?"

"Because my belly is even bigger than yours," she says, and Tilly seems to notice Katniss' rotund abdomen for the first time. Her face becomes very concerned.

"Are you sick, Miss Katniss?"

In answer, Katniss takes the girl's small hand and gently positions it over where her unborn child is kicking.

"Not at all. Feel that?"

Tilly nods, her brow furrowed.

"That's a baby in there."

Tilly looks up at her in amazement.

"A baby?"

"A baby," confirms a deeper voice, and just the sound of it puts Katniss at ease. She looks over to see him standing there, solid and warm and smiling at both of them, holding a large platter of cookies. The children squeal as Peeta sets the platter down on the porch step and then descend like a pack of wild things.

"No telling your mothers I ruined your dinner," Peeta warns them, and they all nod vigorously, mouths full and cinnamon on their faces. The old mine whistle sounds just then, and they scatter for their homes, leaving the old ropes lying in the dirt. No less than three cookies remain on the plate.

"That would have never happened seventeen years ago," murmurs Peeta, nodding at the lonely cookies.

"No," Katniss agrees, and she closes her eyes as she leans against his chest. Peeta's strong, scarred arms wrap snugly around her.

"Tired?"

"No," she says again. "Listing."

Peeta kisses the top of her head and they sit in silence for a long moment.

"Someday I'd like to hear this list of yours."

"I think it would bore you," she replies honestly.

"Why?"

"Because almost all of it is made up of you," she says, and adds the rumble of Peeta's quiet chuckle to her manifest.


End file.
